Knight of Gotham: Prologue
by Kuraun15
Summary: With this new prologue comes a new beginning for the KOG series. Bruce Wayne's parents are murdered during an attempted robbery in an alleyway. How he responds changes the course of his life and the city of Gotham forever. Rated T for some violence.
1. Chapter 1

Knight of Gotham: Prologue

CHAPTER I

I still remember that night in vivid detail. I was nine. Men in Black had been out a couple weeks, and a young Bruce Wayne had pleaded with his somewhat laid back father, Thomas, and his far more uptight mother, Martha, to see it incessantly. They finally caved in. We went to the old Gotham Cineplex to catch the 5:45 showing. It was all right, I guess. I don't remember much from the movie itself.

We got up as soon as the credits began crawling up the screen. My dad thought it was cool and my mom thought it was dumb, and that was that. No use arguing, especially on their boy's birthday. Besides, it was only eight o' clock. Bedtime wasn't for another two hours. The night was still young, as far as the Waynes were concerned.

Instead of exiting the auditorium and going out the front door, my parents opted for the door leading out into a near-hidden alley. We were parked closer.

As we stepped out just beyond the night lights of Gotham City, New Jersey, my dad, his right hand in my left, looked eagerly out across the street, toward the glow of an old-fashioned ice cream shop's neon lights. He turned to my mom and gave her a suggestive smirk and raised his eyebrows. She returned the expression and asked me, "Bruce, how does some ice cream sound?" I was so excited by the question that I didn't properly reply. I stuttered happily, eventually abandoning my sentence and grinning widely.

"I think that means 'It sounds good', Martha," my dad chuckled.

My mom, her left hand in my right, tittered and lovingly lifted her hand, freeing it from my grip and running it over my hair. It was jet black, "Just like your old man," my dad would gleefully say. My mom took my hand again, and it was then we heard a grunt a little farther off and to the left.

We came to a quick halt, and my dad stepped in front of us, letting go of my hand and squinting in the dark. He took his keys from his pocket. On the ring was the car key and the house key. He put the sharper-toothed house key in his left hand, closing it into a fist so the blade stuck out between his middle and ring finger.

"Hello?" He called out. A mass against the left wall moved and emerged.

It was a guy dressed in old, shambled clothes, his blond hair grown long and scraggly. His eyes were sunken with rings of fatigue around them, and his face looked like it hung from his skull. Even in the dusk, it was plain to see that he was shaking all over; probably DTs.

My dad gently pushed my mom and I further behind him and asked the stranger, "Do you need help, sir?"

The stranger saw the key in my dad's fist. He responded by reaching into one of the pockets of his ratty coat and withdrawing a snub nosed handgun. He raised it shakily, taking aim at my dad. My dad's eyes widened in alarm as he raised his hands.

"Look," the stranger said, nearly choking on the word, "I don't want to hurt either of you...or your little boy. I just need some money."

"Don't you threaten my boy," my dad seethed.

"Thomas, just give him some money," my mom's voice trembled. By now she was shielding me with her body, her back to my dad and the stranger, pressing me to her so I couldn't see.

Seeing his wife and child in such a state seemed to soften something in my dad. He took his wallet from his back pocket and tossed it to the stranger. The shaking, weary stranger didn't have any trigger discipline. So when my dad tossed him his wallet so suddenly, he reflexively squeezed with his index finger. The sound echoed off the close walls of the alley and out into the night. Up to that point it was the loudest sound I'd ever heard. I found out later that first bullet hit my dad's shoulder. "AAOW!" he roared. He probably realized then that the stranger was an even greater danger than he'd thought, if not by virtue of malicious intent then by the lowered function of his mind. He rushed the stranger, struggling for the gun. My mom was screaming, clutching me even tighter. Two more shots rang out. My mother's screams were cut off by a gasp. I heard my dad crumple to the ground.

"Close your eyes, Brucie," my mom whispered. I obeyed, and felt her bring herself to her knees and press me even closer still. After one last squeeze, she let me go, falling to my left side. I kept my eyes closed. I could hear the stranger was still there.

"Oh, f&$%...oh s#^!...I didn't me-...I di-..." A choking gulp, the shuffling of feet, and then...silence. I kept my eyes closed.

I didn't open my eyes until I heard another pair of feet approach. I heard a woman gasp and run toward me. She stopped right in front of me, kneeling and taking my face in her hands. "Honey?" she asked, "All you all right?" I kept my eyes shut. "Honey, open your eyes," she said. I reluctantly obeyed. She was just a stranger. She quickly placed her hands like blinders on either side of my eyes. "Don't look, honey...don't look." She glanced over her shoulder. When she looked back at me, she said, "Okay, honey, I'm gonna need you to close your eyes again. Take my hand and follow me. _Don't open your eyes_."

The next time she told me to open my eyes, I found myself in her car. She was outside on the phone...with the police. "...heard gunshots. I went to go see, and I found..." She looked up at the sky and moved her jaw up and down like a fish, searching for words. She looked at me, and then continued, "Look, just please get down here. Right by the Cineplex. Hurry, their boy is still here. Thank you." She hung up and got in the driver's seat. She put her hand on my arm and locked eyes with me, nodding, "You're going to be okay. The police will be here soon." I only found it in me to nod back.

Fifteen minutes later, and the Cineplex was surrounded by flashing lights and yellow tape. Officers walked into the pitch dark of the alley, and when they walked out, they often hung their heads. One in particular, not in blues, but a trench coat, simply stood at the mouth of the alley and looked in. His shoulders heaved up and back down with a slow sigh. When he tore his eyes away, they locked on me. He ducked under the tape and jogged over, telling the woman, "You did right calling this in, ma'am. Thank you. We'll take it from here."

The woman opened the passenger door and beckoned to me, "Come on out, honey." I slowly stepped out, looking the policeman in the eye. He lowered himself to my height and put a hand on my shoulder.

"Hi, Bruce. I'm detective James Gordon. You can call me Jim. I'm going to take you home. Are you ready to go home?"

I nodded, breaking my silence, "Y-yes...yes, I'm ready."

* * *

The familiar creak of the front door of Wayne Manor was followed by the appearance of Alfred Pennyworth, the family butler. He was visibly confused upon seeing Jim with his hand on my shoulder. His lips drew slightly apart. What had happened had registered. He looked into Jim's sympathetic eyes and then down at me. "Ah...Master Bruce, go inside. I think I need to have a talk with the policeman." I knew what about. I stepped inside and walked the halls till I reached my room, hearing the front door shut behind me, not looking to my right or left. I just sat on my bed.

I didn't move until my bedroom door opened. Alfred gingerly stepped in, his eyes tinged red. He kneeled in front of me, placing a hand on my knee. He swallowed, barely able to hold eye contact, "Master Bruce, I...I...oh, my dear boy..."

He rose up and hugged me, letting out those blasting breaths that let you know someone is trying to keep from sobbing. As I felt the embrace, it was as though I suddenly remembered I was a little boy, and one that had lost his parents. I had no reservations about wailing aloud, and so that's what I did.

It was ten thirty by then, far past my bedtime.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER II

There aren't many times in life when a few seconds (a few _split _seconds, really) can feel like hours. Most examples that come to mind are probably things along the lines of the moment before a girl kisses a boy, or before a roller coaster tips into its highest drop, or the time in the air a soccer ball spends before reaching the goal. That's not what my brain goes to. How could it? When I think of a few seconds stretched into thousands, I think of the moment before a fist connects with a jaw. That could be for a combination of reasons, but the one that stands out is that I'm so familiar with it. I've known that moment since I was 13, when I got into my first fight.

Looking back on it, I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner. Maybe I just had a tighter rein on my emotions before. Maybe every kid was just charitably nice to me, the gloomy, orphaned kid, for three whole years. Maybe all the hormones that started raging through me at the time unlocked all the pent-up rage. I don't know. What I know for certain is that some other kid - I don't even remember his name - had made it a part of his daily routine to walk up behind me, smack me in the back of the head, and say in a husky voice, "Hey, goth fag," followed by some taunt about my parents or my family's wealth or his myriad of reasons why I counted, in his mind, as a "goth fag". To be fair, I wasn't really a fan of bright colors back then.

I can't even recall how long this had been a part of normal life for me and this kid when I finally decided enough was enough. But I remember exactly what happened.

An open palm struck the back of my head, making it snap forward. The kid whispered in a voice that reminded me of what I imagined throat cancer sounded like, "Hey, goth fag." My face twisted in frustration. I threw my fist backwards, past my right ear. It flew into the kid's Adam's apple. He staggered backward, but he recovered quicker than I had anticipated. I hadn't thought this through. I turned to face him, and then came the moment. I saw his eyes, full of hatred, his teeth bared in a grimace, his nostrils flared, his face scrunched and red with rage, and then, finally...his fist. It struck the left side of my jaw, sending me sprawling. Just then, a teacher arrived to keep him from whaling on me.

We both got sent to the principal's office. The other kid received more severe disciplinary action, but the student consensus was that I had lost the fight. The thing was, it didn't bother me. I knew I'd lost as well as anyone else, but I didn't care. When I was sitting outside the principal's office, I kept staring at my hands, each one resting palm down in my lap. The punch to the kid's throat hadn't hurt my right hand, but somehow it still felt...different. I turned it palm up and stared some more. What was it?

_That fight felt good_.

I clenched my right hand into a fist and turned it back over.

* * *

When I got home that day, I was greeted by Alfred like always. He didn't say anything until I stepped inside. I turned to him, expectant.

He closed the door, locked it, and turned to me, sighing, "Master Bruce, I received a call from the school..."

"Yeah...I know, Alfred...I-"

"Are you all right, Master Bruce?"

I was taken aback. I gave Alfred a sideways glance as I asked slowly, "You're not...angry I got into a fight?"

"Heavens, no, of course not," Alfred chuckled, "The principal explained everything, in rather _clear_ detail. The way I see it, Master Bruce, he had it coming. Now, back to my original question: are you all right?"

I even cracked a slight smile as I replied, "My jaw's a little sore," rubbing the left side of my face, "But he didn't knock out any teeth or anything."

"Ah. And how is _he _doing?"

"I mean, he's mostly fine. I punched him in the neck."

Alfred laughed at that.

I joined in, admitting, "I really thought you'd be mad."

Alfred ended his laughter with another sigh and said, "Just like old king Solomon said, 'there is a time for peace and a time for war'. You'd kept your peace for a long while, Master Bruce. I think it was _high_ time for a bit of war."

I looked into Alfred's kind eyes for a few moments longer until I asked, "Have you been in many fights, Alfred? You were a spy, right? Dad always told me you did all the boring spy stuff, though. Just watching people and stuff."

As Alfred led me into the kitchen for an afternoon snack, he glanced at the floor and smiled. He quickly turned his attention back to me and said, "I could see Thomas doing that. I assure you, Master Bruce, it was _not _all boring stuff. And for the record, I have been in numerous fights. And I've won...most of them."

We entered the kitchen and I sat down on a stool at the island while Alfred withdrew some hummus and sliced vegetables. He set them down and opened the hummus, dipping some celery in and taking a big, crunching bite. I did likewise, relishing this revelation.

"What kind of fighting can you do, Alfred?" I asked eagerly, karate chopping the air with celery still in hand (and mouth).

Alfred took another bite and thoughtfully replied, "The _combat systems _I know include krav maga, jiu-jitsu, boxing, and karate."

My jaw sank lower and lower and my grin grew wider and wider as Alfred listed each one off. Suddenly my butler was cool.

"Can you teach me some moves, Alfred?" I practically begged, "Can you, please?"

Alfred smirked, "Master Bruce, it would be a perfect pleasure...but I still have a few things to set in order around here, and you and I both know you need to catch up on your assignments. Perhaps this weekend."

I nodded in resignation, sliding off the stool and saying, "Okay. I'll go do homework, I guess. I think I'll go tree climbing after."

As he put away the food, Alfred responded, "That sounds like a reasonable action plan to me. You know the rules."

Before I passed into the hall leading to my room, I shot Alfred one more glance and said, "Through and through."

* * *

There were certainly rules for playing on the expansive, wooded grounds of Wayne Manor. And I most definitely knew them through and through. They'd been hammered home by my dad my entire childhood.

One: Don't go so far you lose sight of the house.

Two: Don't cross the creek in the woods after we've had a lot of rain.

Three: Steer clear of anything that looks like a snake hole. There are copperheads.

Four: Always bring a flashlight, especially if you're out in the evening.

Five: Don't climb any tree that's dead or taller than the house.

Six: Never, ever, under any circumstances, step foot near or (God forbid) in the cave.

The cave wasn't as much a cave as a pit. A couple years after my dad inherited the place, way before I was born, he figured out that the foundations of Wayne Manor were right beside a huge underground cavern, the entrance to which laid across the creek. Recognizing the danger, one his forefathers had ignored, he paid a crew to strengthen the foundations from inside the cavern. They found out quickly that a large group of bats had a residence there. That complicated things, but the work was eventually done. The reason the cavern was off limits, aside from the bats, was that it _also _contained a number of pits and short tunnels connected to the main chamber. The construction crew found this out the hard way when one guy slipped and broke both legs and a wrist from the fall.

After all that, it was a no brainer to make the cave off limits. This was the one rule I had never broken.

I guess I was feeling rebellious that day. Thirteen-year-old boys are funny that way, aren't they? Rules truly become suggestions in their minds.

Once I finished my homework, I grabbed a coat and a flashlight. "Hey Alfred," I announced, "I'm going outside now."

Alfred poked his head into the hall after a few seconds, saying, "Excellent, Master Bruce. Be careful. I'll see you at dinner."

"You got it."

I stepped out of the front door and made a bee line for the creek. It hadn't rained much in the preceding days, so the creek was a jumping distance across. Once on the other side, I clambered up the bank, and there it was: the yawning mouth of the cave. I flicked on the flashlight, peering inside.

The entrance wasn't much to speak of. It was just a round opening that could be accessed by a low-grade slope which proceeded toward the house. Evidently it ran directly underneath the creek. You had to duck to get in, but other than that it was easy. I looked back at the house.

"Here we go," I whispered to no one in particular, finally tearing my gaze from the house. I ventured into the cave.

The passage down to the main chamber was a longer walk than anticipated. I was just thinking I should have brought some water when the passage opened up. There I was: the cavern. About forty feet in height and several times that in length and width, it felt like I'd stumbled on a pirate's hideout or something. Water trickled and gurgled from openings in the walls. Straight ahead of me, there were the steel supports that had been added to the house's foundation.

Of course, there's one thing everyone has to do in a cave. So I yelled, "Hello!"

The word bounced off the walls and returned to me a number of times before dying. I laughed to myself. This was awesome.

And then I heard it.

A squeak. Another one. Something...animal. I raised my flashlight's beam to the ceiling.

Hundreds, maybe thousands of bats were nestled on the ceiling of the cave, squeaking and fluttering about. I let out a shaky breath. I knew bats weren't all that aggressive or dangerous. I wasn't about to get scared.

As though my thoughts of courage reached one of them, I felt something flutter against my back. I jumped and wildly turned, trying to catch whatever it was with my flashlight. Instead, my only source of light flew out of my shaky grip. It tumbled across the floor of the cave and went over the edge of one of the pits, breaking at the bottom. It was now pitch black, and suddenly the bats became a whole lot scarier.

* * *

I didn't move for what felt like hours, surrounded by the continual cacophony of squeaking and fluttering. I felt the brush of leathery wings once or twice more, and then felt the rush of wind and heard the screeches of a passing group of the bats. I wanted to move. But I didn't want to end up like my flashlight. Tears began to form in my eyes, and I let out more than a few sniffles.

It felt like a miracle when I heard Alfred yell, "Master Bruce, are you there?" and saw a light begin to emerge. I slowly shuffled around, looking toward it. Alfred came into the chamber, looking more panicked than I'd ever seen him. When he saw me, he let out a heavy sigh of relief and rushed over.

I cried aloud as Alfred met me, hugging me close.

"Master Bruce, you mustn't scare me like that! Are you all right?"

I looked up at the ceiling, shrouded in darkness, and shook my head vigorously. "I promise I won't come back in here, Alfred," I said, openly weeping, "Just take me back to the house. I want to go back to the house."

Alfred nodded, leading me by the hand. "Of course, Master Bruce," he assured me, "I'll get you out of here. You don't have to be scared."

But I was. And I'd never felt greater relief than when we finally stepped out of that cave. I never wanted to go back. And I never wanted to see a bat again.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER III

Remember how I mentioned I was familiar with that moment, before a fist connects with a jaw? The whole truth of it is that first fight didn't drive me to fight more and more, like it was some kind of drug. I never bothered anyone, especially if they didn't bother me. No one looked for a fight (even that kid I punched), and I never started one.

That didn't mean I didn't still learn from Alfred. We'd cleared out the furniture and breakable objects from our massive sitting room and moved them to other, less frequented areas of the house, and on weekends trained. At 14, I had a pretty good rear naked choke and an even better arm bar. Had a killer hammer fist, too. That became a favorite of mine. Like I said, I never had intentions of using my skills on anyone. It just felt cool to know it. And if I had to defend myself, knowing Alfred's techniques made me feel a little safer.

That is, I never had any intentions until I got to know Tommy.

* * *

Ninth grade can really suck. I don't think it's any secret that the freshies have it tough sometimes. But Tommy Elliot and I dominated our freshman year. Starting about three quarters of the way through, at least.

As many a friendship (or bitter streak of resentment) begins in high school, Tommy was paired up with me for a biology project at the beginning of the year. Neither of us knew the other all that well to begin with, but Tommy had somewhat of a reputation, one that made me count myself lucky to be his partner. You see, it was an undisputed fact that Tommy was a genius. Name the subject, he aced it. This was especially true of any science-related course. Tommy knew he had this reputation as well as anyone else, so it didn't really surprise me that the first thing he ever said to me as I approached him was, leaning back in his lab chair, hands folded over his stomach, a knowing smirk on his face, "I better not be doing all the effin' work, Wayne."

As I sat put my stuff down next to him and took a seat on the chair next to his, I looked him in the eye and replied, "You won't have to worry about that." I meant it. I had a similar academic prowess to Tommy, and I knew it. The difference was I was quiet about it. Tommy was never one to downplay his achievements.

Tommy just stared me down for a few seconds following my reply, until his face settled into that smirk again, seemingly satisfied. He extended his hand and said, "All right, then. Let's not screw up this project together, huh?"

I shook his hand, adopting a smirk myself and saying, "Yeah. Let's not."

* * *

My first question to Tommy after class was: "So where do you want to meet to study?"

His immediate response was, "Anywhere but my house. Believe me, that's a mess you don't want to get involved in."

It was one of the exceedingly rare occasions during my friendship with Tommy when he was completely serious. Not a trace of his cynical, pessimistic humor showed on his face. All I could do was nod.

"Okay," I finally croaked out. I cleared my throat, trying again, "Okay...what about mine?"

There was that stare again. It was one of unease, one that said, "I don't know that I trust you right now." He broke away, suddenly invested in the cheesy educational posters on the walls of the classroom, and absentmindedly said, "Yeah, that'd probably be fine...just have to ask my mom." It was as though that exact sentence was routine for him, and as though it was often followed by negative results.

"Sounds good," I responded, trying to keep the wariness out of my voice, "I guess you can't just ride home with me today then." Up to then, everything I'd seen and heard regarding Tommy convinced me he was at least a halfway normal kid. That moment told me something was up, if not with Tommy then with _something _to do with him. But I didn't press. I didn't ask why he sounded so strange in saying that. And I didn't intend to voice my concerns to Alfred later. There's a part of me that wonders whether things would have turned out different had I said something. But that's another funny thing about teenage boys, isn't it? They stay out of others' business when it might have been better for them to intrude.

I think Tommy was too absorbed with whatever he was thinking about to register the strange tone of my voice. He turned back to me and had apparently moved on from the subject, settling back into his characteristic smirk and saying, "Yeah...besides, I got after-school stuff. I should probably write down my email address for you, right? Wouldn't be much good as partners if we couldn't contact each other."

I was in a stupor for a couple seconds that, much like a punch to the jaw, felt like hours, surprised at his sudden turn in mood. Once I snapped out of it I managed to stutter, "No, y-yeah, yeah, of course. Yeah, that'd be good. Good way for us to...let each other know about...stuff."

"Something on your mind, Wayne?" Tommy's eyebrows raised and his smile widened enough that I could see where his upper teeth met the lower. He looked as though there was no reason for me to be flustered. I suppose it convinced me, because I put the previous interaction out of my mind.

"No, nothing, it's fine," I insisted, "Um...no, that's a good idea. I'll give you mine, too."

Tommy withdrew a notebook from his backpack and tore out a piece, folding and tearing it in half and handing one piece to me. We hurriedly wrote down and exchanged email addresses, stowing them away in our backpacks. We shouldered them and stepped out the classroom door.

Tommy looked to me, put his hand on my shoulder in a buddy-buddy kind of way, smirk still plastered to his face, and announced, "Well, it's my cue to head to my next class. See you around, Wayne."

"Yeah, I'll see you later," I nodded. We parted ways, and that was the last I saw of him that school day.

* * *

Stepping inside Wayne Manor, I called out, "Hey, Alfred?"

"Yes, Master Wayne..." Alfred's reply came floating through the house. He stepped out from his office (formerly my dad's office), reading glasses on and documents in hand, continuing, "A moment, Master Bruce, I must finish getting these in order and send them back to Mr. Fox."

Lucius. I hadn't heard his name in a while. R&D at Wayne Enterprises had been busy.

I lingered outside Alfred's office until he turned around in his swivel chair and asked, "What can I do for you, Master Bruce?"

"Well, I just wanted to let you know my science project partner might start coming around tomorrow. His name's Tommy Elliot."

Alfred's eyebrows raised, and he mused, "Now, Elliot...that's a...very famous name."

I didn't even want to know. I wasn't going to touch the subject.

Alfred continued, "Very good, Master Bruce. I'll make sure to send him your way when he gets here."

"Thanks, Alfred."

"Always, Master Bruce."

I nodded my thanks and went to my room, hopping on my PC and composing an email.

"Hey, Tommy," I said, "You _are _coming to my place tomorrow, right?"

It wasn't five minutes before I received the reply, "Yeah, dude! My mom was cool with it. I'll be over. See you then!"

I sat back in my chair, relieved. However, I found myself drumming my fingers on my desk. What Alfred had said about Tommy's family name was gnawing at me. And something told me Tommy's mom had come to a pretty quick decision.

But I still told myself I didn't want to know.

* * *

The following afternoon, there was a loud knock at the door. I was invested in my math homework when I heard it, followed by the opening of the door and Alfred announcing, "Master Bruce, Mr. Elliot is here!"

I emerged from my room and approached the front of the house, where Tommy was looking up and around at the ceilings and decoration, a backpack hanging off his shoulder.

"Nice house," he said softly. He turned to Alfred and smiled, "Must be a lot to clean."

"That it is," replied Alfred kindly, "It keeps an old man busy. And spry."

Tommy smiled wider and turned to me, giving a little wave. It was almost a salute.

"'Sup, Wayne?"

"Hey Tommy. So, uh..." I jabbed my thumb behind me. "You just want to start in my room?"

"That'll work, Wayne."

"Well," said Alfred with a slight bow, "I sincerely hope you two have a productive, and more importantly _enjoyable _time. Remember, learning should be a pleasure, not simply a numbing trudge."

"I'll keep that in mind, Mr. Butler, sir," Tommy said. He nodded in approval at me and said, "I like this guy already. Lead the way, Wayne."

As we entered my room, I cleared off my math homework from my desk and gestured around, saying, "Where the magic happens. Um, welcome."

"To Jurassic Park!" Tommy said quietly.

"I kind of wish," I laughed, "You can just put your stuff wherever."

Tommy plopped his backpack on my bed and unzipped it, withdrawing its contents. I looked over and saw something that most certainly did _not _look like any homework I'd ever seen. It was some kind of case.

I pointed to the mysterious object and asked, "What's that?"

"Oh, this?" Tommy picked it up to better reveal a cover depicting god-like beings above and battling warriors below. He continued excitedly, "Oh, you're going to love this. Age of Mythology. Best RTS in years, I tell you."

"Best what now?"

"RTS, Real Time Strategy, dude!"

"Well, I mean, we gotta..."

"Yeah, I-I know, I just figured, you know, when we're done studying, we could...boot this up and take over some cities, you know?"

I let a smile creep over my face as I replied, "Yeah...I think I do."

* * *

So it went that semester. I would see Tommy at school in the morning, and then he'd come to my home in the afternoon. We'd study for our project (the exact subject and result of which I can't even remember), and we'd play AoM. It was during one of the after-study play sessions that I asked Tommy, "Hey, uh...I don't know if you're into this kind of thing, but...do you want to check out my training room?"

"Your _what_?" Tommy raised his eyebrows.

"Well, I'm not sure I mentioned this to you yet, but Alfred was kind of a spy back in the day. He's taught me some moves from his time...in the service. We have a dedicated room and everything."

Tommy laughed, incredulous, "You have a frickin' _combat training room _in your frickin' house? Dude, you definitely haven't told me that, 'cause if you _had, _I would've been in there a _long _time ago."

"Well, I just wasn't sure Alfred would want you in there."

"Just ask him!"

"I-"

"I'll do it if you won't," Tommy interrupted as he rushed out of my room.

"Wait, T-Tommy-" I stuttered as I ran after him.

"_Yo, Alfred!" _Tommy yelled across the house.

Alfred was fixing a leak in the sink when Tommy called to him. As Tommy and I reached him, both panting, he sat up, his eyebrows raised, expectant and puzzled.

"...Yes, boys?" he asked, his eyes shifting between us.

"Bruce's got a question for ya," Tommy breathed.

"Eh...yes, Master Bruce?"

I lifted a finger, catching my breath. Upon my second wind, I asked, "Can I show Tommy the training room? Maybe show him some moves?"

Alfred quietly said "Hm" and got to his feet. He considered the question and then replied, "This game you two are always playing, it's a strategy game?"

I wasn't sure what that had to do with the question. I struggled for an answer before Tommy saved the day by saying, "Yes sir, Alfred. Trains the brain, you know."

"Well," said Alfred as he leaned against the sink, "Training of the mind mustn't be without training of the body, correct?"

"I suppose that'd be right, Alfred," Tommy said confidently.

"Then show him the training room you may, Master Bruce," Alfred nodded his approval, "as well as some 'moves'."

"What'd I say?" Tommy turned to me, as though he'd just shown me how to solve a centuries old problem, "Just gotta ask."

I sighed, saying, "Thanks, Alfred. I think we'll hang out there until Tommy's mom comes by."

"Tommy's mother?" Alfred asked.

"Yeah, the chauffeur's out sick," Tommy answered, "So she has to take on the _chore _of driving me."

"Well then, I'll let you know when she's here, and have tea prepared for her," Alfred assured.

"Oh, she doesn't have the_ time _for tea, Alfred," Tommy said sarcastically, in a mock high-class accent, "She and _Father _have _business_."

Perhaps because he knew what deep silence would have followed had he not, Alfred said, "That is truly unfortunate. A quality cup of tea heals many ails of the day."

"I didn't say she didn't need it," Tommy said flatly.

Alfred nodded solemnly, "You should run on back, boys. Enjoy yourselves. Every minute you linger is another minute closer to you going home, Tommy."

Tommy just nodded, and began walking away, not actually knowing where the room was. I watched him go for a second and then slowly returned to Alfred. I held his gaze for a few seconds. An aura of sadness had come into it. There were questions. There were many. I just didn't know how to ask them. So I just followed after Tommy, saying, "Hey, you want me to show you the way, man?"

* * *

We entered and Tommy took a look around. "Nifty" was the only word he uttered in appraisal.

"One word for it," I admitted.

"So you guys just...what? Spar? You ever get any other kids in here and show 'em how it's done?"

I shook my head slowly, "Not real- the, the spar part, yeah, we do that, I mean, but...no, actually you're the first person aside from me and Alfred to be in here. Like this, anyway. It used to be a sitting room."

"Sounds boring. Glad you fixed things." By now Tommy was leaning on a training dummy, arm on its shoulder. He jerked his head toward it and asked, "You wanna show me how you dish it out?"

"Sure, just stand back."

Tommy did, going to lean on a far wall.

I stood in front of the dummy and took an offensive stance.

"What's taking you?" Tommy asked after about five seconds.

"I'm deciding," I mumbled.

"Deciding wh-"

I whirled and delivered a kick to the dummy, which landed with a deep, echoing _thud_.

"Deciding on _that_," I breathed.

Tommy's face was blank for a second. His lips parted. All at once, his smile quickly grew, his eyes forced themselves closed, and he began to shake with astonished laughter. It went from barely audible quivers to yelping gasps and then finally to gales, bending him forward and moving his hands to his thighs. Tears began to run down his face, and he even clapped a few times.

When he was calm enough to speak, he said through still-present chuckles, "_Whoa!_ Man, I thought you'd just _get _him in the neck," accompanied with a sideway chop with his hand, "But that, right there...that's impressive. Wow! Wow...I don't even...made my day, dude."

"Glad to hear it. You wanna try?"

"Nah, man, I'm a lover and a lover of fights, but not a fighter. Yeah...not really a fighter." There it was again. That strange, suspicious look on Tommy's face. I could never tell whether it was his walls coming down or more coming up. Whatever it was, it never failed to take me off guard.

"W-well, that's cool, that's okay. I just, uh..." I looked from Tommy to the dummy and back again, lifting my arms and letting them come back down. "I haven't really had to...show this to anyone. I'm having a hard time picking out moves for you to see."

"Don't worry about it, man. I'm already impressed...say, why don't you ever, like...actually _use_ this stuff?"

"You mean...like on people?"

"Well, yeah! Like on douchebags, specifically. Like on friggin' Jay Nettles, for example."

Jay Nettles was not, in fact, the kid I'd had that first fight with. He was worse. He was sleazy enough to pick the lock for the janitor's closet at school, steal one of the many stepladders, and hide it in a shrub for when he decided to look in on the girls' bathroom, and he was also big enough to convincingly threaten the kids who even thought about exposing him. I was often one of those kids.

I looked to the dummy, picturing Jay's deep-set, hooded eyes plastered on its blank head, eyes which many students swore were yellow ("Like in that movie _A Christmas Story_!" was a phrase not unheard when discussing Jay).

"It'd be a lie to say that I've never thought about clocking him upside the head," I mused, "but I just..."

Tommy's arms were crossed by now, and he cocked his head, saying, "You just...?"

I looked down and away from the dummy, focusing on a patch of floor when I replied, "I don't know, this...this is just _fun _for me. I just asked Alfred about it 'cause I was curious. I figured I could show off, maybe impress some girls. I've never considered using it...for what it was meant for, I guess."

"Nobody likes a show-off, Wayne," Tommy admonished me as he took a few steps closer, "Especially not girls. At least, not the ones you _really _want to attract. Those girls want _action_, a man who can _use _what he's got, not just shoot his mouth off about it or put on a little 'show'." He put his hand on my shoulder like a father offering worldly advice. "Trust me, man, I know these things. You wanna reel in the juiciest fish in the sea?"

I made a face. He waved it off, "Okay, not the best image, but you get it! You want to _really _impress the right kind of lady? None of that shadowboxing crap will work. You gotta put up against a real opponent. You gotta..." He withdrew his hand and gripped the air with both fists, apparently taken along by the brilliance of his own idea. He released as he breathed, "You gotta make it a _show_."

I raised my finger in objection, "Didn't you just say I shouldn't put on a 'show'?"

Tommy fired back, "Different. It's different. Forget about it."

A new look crossed his face. It wasn't the trademark smirk, nor the closed off, robotic mask. It was weirdly calculating, like a cat watching an idling bug.

Sensing a plan I wouldn't like, I narrowed my eyes and asked him, "Tommy, what're you saying?"

Tommy thrust his index finger at me and burst, "I'm saying you gotta challenge Jay Nettles to a fight! A real schoolyard rumble, except...keep the whole thing under wraps. Don't let the teachers in on it. A word of mouth fight of the century. I tell you, the chicks will _flock _to this. And not if, but _when _you win..." Both of his hands were on my shoulders now. "_When _you win, you'll have your pick of 'em."

I got a strange image in my head of myself, musclebound and standing atop a pile of rubble, foot planted on the back of a dazed Jay Nettles, while girls clung to my legs and worshipped my biceps. The self-assured look on this Bruce's face made the whole thing seem as seedy as reality's Jay.

I tried to back out of it before it started, lifting Tommy's hands from my shoulders and saying, "I don't know, man. Now that you really lay it out like that, I'm not sure if I want it. I mean, where would we even hold this thing?"

Tommy defeated my question with, "Got a barn on my family's property. Haven't had any kind of livestock there for decades; it's never used."

I tried, "But wouldn't your parents...?"

Tommy interrupted, "They wouldn't notice. I thought you knew that was a given."

It felt like the walls of the room were attempting to swallow me. I weakly tried one more time, "I just...don't know, Tommy."

Tommy sighed. He surely expected me to get just as excited as he did. He dialed back his enthusiasm (which was an effort for Tommy at this time) and said, "Okay. I understand your reluctance. What if you win and just end up looking like the bigger jerk and all that. But man, you got the ability. We both know Jay won't fight fair. You _can_, and you'd still win. You can fight with _integrity_. Ladies love integrity. And besides, if not for the girls, weren't you saying you'd _like _to take Jay down a peg or two? Wouldn't you want to be known as the hero who ended his reign of terror?"

By now I had nothing to say in reply. I had been beaten into a sense of helplessness as Tommy's enthusiasm barreled over me like a train. I could no longer answer "yes" or "no" to his questions with any honesty. I felt simply complacent.

Unimpeded, Tommy offered, "Man, I'll even organize the whole thing. I'll put out the word, clear out the barn; heck, I'll even challenge Jay for you! I'd be like your envoy! All you'd have to do is show up and show the people what you can do!"

He spread his hands, presenting me with an opportunity that shone like gold to him. I started, "I'll..."

The door handle turned and Alfred stepped in, saying, "Master Bruce, I hope you are satisfied with your demonstration. Mrs. Elliot has arrived."

Tommy walked backwards to the door, pointing to me and saying, "You'll think about it? That what you were going to say?" I only nodded. Tommy snapped his fingers and said, "My work here is done. See you, Wayne."

He passed through the door and Alfred shut it. For a few moments I was left alone in the training room. I looked back to the dummy, my mind feeling clogged and slow with so many conflicting thoughts floating around in it. Jay Nettles' eyes appeared on the dummy's head again, and I decided I should go elsewhere to collect myself.


End file.
